• Grab a stool

    by  • February 10, 2017 • * Safe for Work *, Confusion • 0 Comments

    Today I am praying. I’m sitting in the metro, typing madly, and silently praying. Why? Who am I praying to? Does it matter. To whoever can hear me.

    Universe, you’ve been generous and kind to me. You ensured I was born into an amazing family. A good family. You gave me intelligence and beauty and friends I’ll keep for a lifetime. You brought me the love of my life at a young age.

    But you also gave me the ability–the need–to write. The desire to create stories and make a life for myself that isn’t 9-5. A life that entails making things up and indulging others. Changing people’s lives in bringing them laughter and tears.

    And so I push. And I push. Because I want to write for a living. I think this is actually possible. In fact, I’m so naive, that I do nothing but focus on just that. I lose out on a lot of money, but gain an insane amount of experience. I freelance for school and community newspapers (stressing the prefix “free” ), I complete internships, I starts books, I collaborate on TV projects, I join writers groups, I go for a Creative Writing Master’s, I apply for scholarships, I win little writing contests…but I’m still somehow ungrateful.

    Why? Because I want the impossible. I want to be in the business of making things up. As in stories that kids will talk about for the rest of their lives. Characters people can relate to and aspire to be. Words that make people feel something. Want to do something good.

    And here I am, with all my “experience” taking jobs as a content writer. Not so bad, you’re thinking. I’m getting paid to write, aren’t I? Yes, I am getting paid to write nonsense on Web platforms so that I can make other people money. I am implementing keywords so that gullible people can land on their page and buy their services. I am changing the world.

    Not. Not even close. So what do I do? Do I have time to myself to write a book? No. Because I’m too busy spending all my time trying to gain experience (which slowly, finally, has actually turned into money. Unfortunately, I need some of this to survive).

    Can I at least edit manuscripts for people instead? I would love to, but wait. No one wants to hire someone who hasn’t published one book yet. OK…now you see my pickle.

    Writing. A gift and a curse (yes, I’m being dramatic). But it’s true. Because I will never be satisfied. I’ll never feel I have enough. It hurts every day knowing this. I go to work, I write mechanically for 8 hours, I come home, I try my best to be creative on my days off, but it amounts, right now, to nothing but “experience”. And yes, fine. A paycheque.

    And so I’m praying. Praying, praying, praying, that a miracle hits. That I can quit my meaningless day job and write a book series that will change lives (because my books would). That money will no longer stop me from taking the time I need. Because I just want to change the world. Aren’t we all trying to do the same? Well I promise you. Right now, I’m not.

    But I’ll keep trying. I’ll still keep my hope. I’ll still dream. Because what else is there to do?

    If I can do it…if I can continue to dream, so can you. Never stop reaching. Or you’ll remain exactly where you are, unable to grab hold of that thing you desperately want on the top shelf. So grab a stool.

    That’s it. Grab stool.

    I will just grab a stool.

    Sincerely yours,
    An emerging author (look out for me)

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